


Waking Terror

by penpenhooray



Series: Dark Fairy Tale AU [4]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Decapitation, Gore, Hux is a nervous bride, Kidnapping, M/M, Mitaka deserves better, Wedding Plans, and by nervous I mean violent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 23:50:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7866241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penpenhooray/pseuds/penpenhooray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Armitage wakes, hoping his encounter with Ren was nothing more than a nightmare. </p><p>His hopes are dashed and he meets the first of his future "subjects" who insists on calling him "Queen"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waking Terror

_ Ren was everywhere; Armitage could not escape him: he was beside him, he was beneath him, above him,  _ **_inside_ ** _ him. The monster’s large hands were crawling over his bare skin, invading every part of him he once thought private. _

 

_ “My bride…” Ren growled deeply, his mask burying itself in Armitage’s neck. And though Armitage was desperate to proclaim he was not the property of Ren, he found his voice had been stolen. _

 

_ The monster’s fingers dug into Armitage’s soft sides until, like talons, they pierced the flesh. Even in the throes of agony, as Kylo Ren tore his flesh from his bones, Armitage could not find the sounds to cry out. _

 

_ “Such a pretty bride…” Reen crooned again, as if he did not have a handful of Armitage’s flesh in his hand, “All  _ **_mine._ ** _ ” _

 

Armitage woke with a start, bolting upright in his bed. His hands flew to his sides. They were intact, the skin as smooth and flawless as the day he was born. But that only brought forth a troubling thought to Armitage: his skin had never been flawless, years of training for battle had left many a scar and bruise painted across his skin. Brendol, little Techie, perhaps he would have had skin so fair, but not him…

 

“My lord found the sight of your scars not to his liking, so he removed them.”

 

With another start (and didn’t Armitage loath being caught unawares…), the young warlord whirled around to face the speaker. 

 

He was an ordinary looking young man, his face boyishly round, his skin milky white and hair kept tied back at the nape of his neck. He wore black breeches tucked into black boots, and a plain black shirt overtop that. All in all, he looked like any other servant...barring the fact that his eyes were as black as night.

 

“I came to ensure you had woken, my Queen.” The servant bowed his head ever so slightly before approaching the bed once more, “My lord wishes that I would see you dressed and escorted to breakfast as promptly as mortals can manage.”

 

It was then that Armitage realized that he was not in his own bed at the manor, nor even the manor itself; the bed was so much larger than the one in the manor, with black satin stretched over the bedding as opposed to the linen he had grown up with, and a blanket of rich burgundy velvet had been lain across his body. The walls of the room were lined with finery as well: gold and silver fixtures, precious stones used as nothing more than accent marks on household items.

 

Despite the luxury of his surroundings, Armitage could not help but despair that the whole ordeal with Ren had not been nothing but a nightmare, but very real indeed. He had been kidnapped by Kylo Ren to settle a deal struck by his own mother…

 

“My Queen, we should dress you.” The servant spoke softly, laying out several garments on the dark velvet of Armitage’s bed.

 

Upon realizing that he was in only a nightshirt (and hardly that at all), Armitage rose from the bed. He watched the unnatural servant warily, “What’s your name?” He asked, hoping, if nothing else, he could begin to know his enemies.

 

“I had a name before Lord Ren came for me.” The servant replied, ushering Armitage to raise his arms before he effortlessly stripped the nightshirt from him, “But now I am called Phel.”

 

“Phel...Ren stole you as well?” Armitage murmured. Was he destined to become just like the unnerving servant.

 

“No, my Queen. I was rightfully Lord Ren’s from the moment of my birth.” He nodded before setting to dress Armitage in the finery he had brought, “Though I must admit, my Queen, we have all been eagerly awaiting your arrival.”

 

Armitage grit his teeth as he was dressed,“Do not call queen…” He hissed.

 

“But you will be queen.” Phel nodded, stepping back and bowing, “After the wedding to Lord Ren, that is.”

 

All at once, the rage Armitage felt toward Ren, toward the castle he must have been taken to, roared to life once more. How  _ dare  _ Ren steal him from his ancestral home? He had no  _ right-- _

 

A glint of steel among the gold and silver caught Armitage’s eye: there, nestled beside the bed, was his sword. Had Ren brought it with Armitage when he stole him, Armitage knew not. What he did know, though, was that he would make Ren pay for such a mistake.

 

In a single, fluid movement, Armitage grabbed the sword and turned on Phel, who had only just begun to rise from his deep bow.

 

“There will be no wedding.”

 

The servant’s dark eyes had only begun to widen in surprise before Armitage’s sword cut through his neck, through Armitage did not wait around to see the servant’s head roll across the floor before he bolted out the bedroom door.

 

The castle was unfamiliar to him, but he had no choice but to find a way out. If he had to, he would leap from the first window close to the ground. He just needed to find a way out…

 

Armitage’s footsteps echoed loudly in the empty corridors of the castle, his breathing frantic with urgency and adrenalin as he rushed to find a way out. The corridors turned this way and that way, up one flight of stairs, down another, round and round.

 

But no matter how Armitage followed the corridors, he could not find the way out. He could not even find a doorway to another room, in hopes of finding a window to climb from. Was this Ren’s doing? Was the castle cursed?

 

The sound of soft footsteps pulled Armitage from his thoughts, as he readied his sword to fight whoever it may be. But then the sound of dripping accompanied the footsteps as they grew louder. Stepping from the shadows, Phel calmly made his way toward Armitage. To the young man’s horror, the place where the servant’s head had once been was nothing more than a mess of torn sinew and mangled bone, and yet the servant still walked. Blood poured from the open wound, leaving a trail of crimson in Phel’s wake.

 

“Really, my Queen…” Phel spoke, and Armitage only then realized that the servant’s severed head was not only being carried in his own hands, still capable of speech, but seemed completely unfazed by his own decapitation, “I understand pre wedding nerves, but you must admit, that was a bit rude.”

 

Armitage stumbled back, the sword falling uselessly from his hand as he stared in horror. What kind of creature was he dealing with…

 

“I am merely one of your many subjects, my Queen.” Phel answered, as if he could hear Armitage’s mind like Ren could, “But I must be frank, we really should get you to breakfast. Our Lord is waiting.”


End file.
